My description of the gutter
by The Evil Queen of Nowhere
Summary: Don't mind me. I am practicing the use of my descriptions. I want to become less cryptic in my writing and more down to earthish.
1. Poetic Version concerning gutter

This is my version of the gutter for other ears to receive. What is yours?  
  
Where should I begin in trying to describe this fantastic place?  
  
***  
  
The gutter's the home  
  
Of my imagination.  
I shall give you a more distinct  
Definition of the word home?  
It is different from just  
The place you dwell in.  
A home is the place where  
You are comfortable. A place  
That you endeavor.  
This is the gutter for me.  
Am I overly sappy? I am permitted  
To do so in the gutter.  
The gutter is indeed my home.  
The isolated island in the sea.  
This, a sea of shattered dreams.  
The sea is a deep and bottomless one,  
Treacherous to those without heart.  
I venture there when I must  
  
But I much prefer the adventures  
Of the fertile island of hopes.  
All that exists is things  
That you cannot grasp.  
Untouchable.  
Sumptuous but utterly untouchable.  
I can see all I imagine so clearly  
But I am never to touch it.  
The tall trees of immeasurable girth  
Are like ashes. They fall  
To the will of the wind.  
The structures of the gutter  
Where in I happen to live.  
They are the finest,  
Always this is so.  
Sweeping stairwells draped  
In voluptuous heaps  
Of rose petals to soften  
The steps of a harmonious gait.  
In the halls of the opulent  
Mansion of my gutter  
There splayed across the walls  
Are murals of grand depicting.  
Placed in no random order  
These designs of monstrous scale  
Vividly detailing the history  
Of my soul. Fiery depths of  
Hellish nightmares fare meekly  
In protests to the ideals  
And the virtues symbolized  
In a wealth of colors. Angels  
Of my dreams smile at me from  
The corners of said halls.  
Skies of deepest blue remain  
an indelible part of the whole.  
What a supernal vision to encounter.  
These paintings in the hall.  
But the things which fill my dreams  
much more than the place I can imagine  
is the key details of my impregnable  
hopes so not easily shattered.  
No matter in which room you seek  
always will you meet  
a character of great character  
who presents to me a perfect  
sanity.  
***  
  
I did not do this half as well as I would have liked to do it. It is bogus. I want to learn to write better. I would prefer to have something more comprehensible. I tell you what. I will write another chapter to this. In that chapter I will have a better description that is much less cryptic and containing more vivid details. How does that float with you? 


	2. Nonpoetic details

This is just another description of the gutter since I am feeling like handing out explanations. I would like to further develop my ability to use description.  
  
My life is a happy one and I love living it, but sometimes you need to admit that imagination can be a great and powerful thing to have. You can go anywhere you want to go and see anything you want to see. I absolutely love it! The gutter is my home.  
  
What do you see?  
  
Me. For me trees surround me. Not regular trees, but enormous spindly giants that are fantastic and compelling to envision; reds of roses and reds of flames. Greens of visual complexity never to be of one tone or one shade. These trees are always moving in an unrestrained repetuous motion. Some sway gently as if to a dance with an embracing love about them, while others move in a quite different fashion. Those few individual trees are what you really notice. They shake violently and force the earth beneath my feet to to tremble in something almost like an emotion. One that you cannot possibly think to comprehend. It could be anger and frustration as if they wished to rip their roots from the ground and fly. It is as mystifying to me as everything else around me.  
  
None of these trees are formed of precise lines and shapes or forms. Nothing in the gutter is, really. Everything is more of feelings and colors. The view that you recieve is more a swirling of colors leading torwards the zenith of the sky. The clouds are the only things that are not of vivid colors as they are are always dark and gray or vibrantly blaring in a supreme white of all whites shimmering crystal glasses in the sky. Well almost always. At sunset and sunrise they appear as tinted blood and sunlight fused together and circulating in a clashing and contradicting harmony that relates to everything else about the place.  
  
The soil to the gutter is a rich brown dark fudge. It crumbles between your toes with a satisfyingly cool sensation comparable to mint on the tip of your tongue. And although the soil may seem cool it is as comforting as the sun and it makes me feel as if I ought to be bathing in it. The ground is littered with the debris of the trees glittering like the jewels they are in this supernal and preternatural world.  
  
The water is fluid diamonds slowly trickling through the crevasses of the soft earth. There is a mist fogging the floor of the gutter that distorts everything that I see in a surreal appeal similar to looking at the bottom of a bathtub whilst you are bathing. The airt is moist and you can taste it with a tangy flavor not sweet and not spicy but like a tangerine. Just another oddity to the world that in itself belongs nowhere but in my heart. 


End file.
